


Kill a Liar (Let those dirty words pass right through me)

by DisasterSoundtrack



Series: Kill a Liar [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4929562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loneliness in West Hollywood is like being on a plane, surrounded by strangers.</p><p>It's having no roots. It's missing all the places that ever were your home, and the one that never was, but you wanted it to be. It's missing this last place the most. Loneliness is living life without the <i>certain someone</i> inhabiting that place.</p><p>(Also known as the one with airports, a red scarf and finding somewhere you belong.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill a Liar (Let those dirty words pass right through me)

**Author's Note:**

> Due to both Trixie's and Katya's boy names being Brian, I've decided to use their drag names even when writing about them as boys; it just makes the whole ordeal much easier.
> 
> Title is borrowed from my favorite The Used song, _Back Of Your Mouth._

It's the smell of airports, really.

Trixie is telling himself that it's what's making him nervous. That he's on pins and needles not because this flight, the 55th flight in his life (he counted), is going to a _certain place_ , not because the destination printed on his boarding pass begins with a B, like his boy name.

No. It's the sterile smell of airports. The fact that they actually have no smell at all.

LAX duty free zone never ends, Trixie could swear. His feet get tired after 20 minutes of cruising around, dragging a small suitcase behind. Not the pink one though; that's for drag occassions. He's got a black one this time. It contains three changes of clothes, some basic personal hygiene stuff, make-up (just in case), and absolutely no hello-it's-me-again-I'm-so-sorry-for-before gifts.

He's going to fix this. He just has no idea what the fuck to buy.

Scarves make terrible gifts. Trixie knows they're lame, easy and impresonal; he often knows things and doesn't take them into account. Maybe that's why his mom used to jokingly tell him she must've dropped him quite often when he was a baby; he buys a red, cashmere scarf as a peace-offering gift for a _certain someone_ and regrets this decision before he even makes it. Well, that's just how he rolls, he sighs and wraps the scarf around his neck, putting its package inside his carry-on. It's a nice scarf at least, it's soft and blood red and he can imagine it wrapped tightly around another neck, the neck it's meant to be wrapped around.

Boarding time is in 10 minutes, so Trixie leaves the duty free store behind and heads for his departure gate.

*

Loneliness tastes like this glass of wine the flight attendant hands him.

Loneliness in West Hollywood, especially, is like being on a plane, surrounded by strangers.

It's having no roots. It's missing all the places that ever were your home, and the one that never was, but you wanted it to be. It's missing this last place the most. Loneliness is living life without the _certain someone_ inhabiting that place.

Trixie takes a sip of wine. It's bitter, sour and sweet at the same time, and he thinks, _it's very ironic._

They land safely in Boston at 5:30 PM.

*

Trixie is stupid. The fact has been stated many times before. He's not book-stupid, no; he was always good at school and still can crush anybody in a trivia game. He just doesn't really think some things through.

Maybe that's how he finds himself in a staircase, sitting on a dirty doormat, music from the bar below making the walls vibrate, the one he came here for nowhere to be found.

It's almost 10 PM, a Friday night. His phone is about to die. He should've predicted all that.

Suddenly his body remembers he woke up at 6 this morning, and it's like tiredness overcomes him in a second. The nervousness he felt ever since the airport, or maybe ever since forever ago, fixes itself when he leans back on the door that is very, very locked, and falls into shallow sleep, half his face covered by a red scarf.

He dreams of blond hair, the workroom he tried to forget really bad, and of leaving another lipstick message on another mirror, elsewhere.

*

There are sharp nails attached to a bony hand, squeezing his shoulder. There's someone's breath on his forehead, a gentle kiss like a print on his skin, a blinding light flooding the staircase. There's a smell of bad women's perfume and someone saying his name very quietly, then louder. It's all in a dream, until it's not.

''Trixie.''

He opens his eyes and sees nothing at first, just light that reminds him of a hospital. And then the bony hands grab him, drag him up with surprising strength, and he has an armful of Katya, all of his senses tingle with the presence of his _certain someone_ he came here for.

He fails to hug Katya back; he's still unconscious from his unfortunate nap and all of his bones hurt. He tries to put his arms around the other man, still not seeing much, and Katya breaks the embrace to open the door and get Trixie and his suitcase inside the apartment.

''Why the fuck are you sleeping on my doormat, stupid? Also hello.''

Katya drops a bag to the floor. She's in full make-up, but no wig, and is wearing jeans and a grey hoodie.

Trixie remembers how the wine was bitter, sour and sweet at the same time. Trixie remembers, _no roots. Lonely. Lonely._

''Come here'', he says. Katya is smiling, taking two steps forward and stopping right in front of Trixie. They're almost touching, but not quite, until Katya gently grabs onto his arms, slowly caressing them through the sweater fabric. Trixie is not going to smile, not yet. It hurts too much, everything does.

''I'm here.''

''I'm sorry'', Trixie manages.

''For what, babe? I love your scarf.''

Oh, right. The scarf.

''It's for you.'' Trixie untangles himself from it and puts it on Katya, wrapping it around the neck it was meant for. He was right. Katya looks gorgeous. Katya is a beautiful mirage on the brink between a dream and reality.

Katya will never be real. Katya belongs to no one.

The clock on the wall says it's 2 AM. Trixie feels tortured; he feels like dying. Katya is touching the scarf.

''It smells like you. That's so unfair.''

Trixie has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but on a deeper level, he knows that perfectly well. He misses the simple times, the times of easy friendship and comfortable touches and Violet clearing her throat loudly and Miss Fame throwing them looks; he misses the _before_ , except it was never easy between the two of them; he was just lying to himself. Katya is staring at him.

''Do you want a glass of water or do you wanna go to bed?''

''I – both?''

''Alright.''

_Headfirst into darkness._

*

It's 3:30 AM and they can't stop talking. Katya is spilling nonsense about movies he watched lately, about the gigs he had and people he met, and the time he spent away from Trixie, and Trixie thinks _this is good, this makes me feel grounded. This is what I need._ He's staring towards the ceiling, lying on his back in Katya's bed in complete darkness. Katya's laughing, his soft hair touching Trixie's naked shoulder, and this is almost like two months ago when they saw each other for the last time.

Except then there was fumbled touching, hot, heavy breaths and all wilderness and smeared eyeliner, and Trixie was a cheater then. So Trixie had to escape.

_The escape was what hurt the most. Him rejecting Katya, that they laughed off like any two friends too drunk to think straight would do, hahaha, straight is the wrong word, don't you think, and of course Katya was stone cold sober, and then they fell asleep in each other's arms anyway, even though Trixie's mascara was running down his face with the silent tears that kept him awake until the sky was almost bright._

_The worst came in the morning. He tried to leave quietly, while Katya was still asleep, so he didn't even change, he just threw on his pants and a jacket and headed for the door. They were in some hotel in Chicago, does it even matter, it doesn't. Katya did wake up, of course, because Trixie can't have good things in life._

_''You're leaving.''_

_It was kind of obvious, wasn't it? Trixie was just putting on his shoes._

_''Look'', started Katya, ''if it's about what happened at night then I don't know what the fuck to say to you, I just - ''_

_''No, stop it. You didn't do anything wrong. I have to - I'm gonna make this right, okay?''_

_Trixie's heart broke when Katya nodded, wrapped tight in a blanket stolen from the bed they had both slept in. He picked up his bags, took a deep breath and, neverminding the pain tearing him up from the inside, hugged Katya goodbye._

_''I'll be in touch.''_

_He was going to break up his almost non-existent relationship and come back to Katya. He was really going to. Nothing went as planned, but why was he even surprised?_

It's 3:45 AM two months later and there's no escaping anymore. Trixie is going to hold Katya's hand, like he used to do all the time and it meant nothing, it meant everything and didn't feel weird at all, before that night it got weird and they didn't get a chance to get past this.

Until now.

He's searching for Katya's right hand with his left. Grabbing onto it is hard, because the other man is still talking, very animatedly, gesticulating in the air above his face, but Trixie finally succeeds. His holding Katya's hand in his and Katya quiets down, shuts up.

He's waiting for something to happen. He's waiting for a boom, boom, bang, for an earthquake or at least a lightning strike. Nothing happens. It's just Katya grabbing Trixie's hand with both of his, placing his head on Trixie's chest, cuddling close, still smelling like women's perfume and cigarette smoke.

All Trixie can do is touch his hair and kiss the top of his head and remind himself, _Katya belongs to no one._

But this, this night, this bed, it does not feel like a dead end. It finally feels like some kind of a road.

They fall asleep and Trixie has no idea Katya is as terrified as he is, or more.

*

Trixie makes breakfast: he fries eggs he found in the fridge (damn, he hopes they're not old), throws in some herbs, a little cheese, pours orange juice into glasses and coffee into cups. Katya wakes up to the smell and walks into the kitchenette, blanket wrapped around white t-shirt and black boxers. Fuck, déjà vu.

''Who died and made you queen of my kitchen, huh? What's the gorgeous smell? Are you sure the eggs aren't expired?''

''Let's keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best, shall we?''

Katya theatrically drops the blanket and prances to the table, pursing his lips and bowing beautifully before Trixie, making him giggle.

They eat in relative silence until Katya takes the first sip of coffee and everything changes. Trixie is almost done with his eggs when the babbling kicks in, Katya going on and on about irrelevant, silly things, the stream of words and fork-waving meant to cover up his insecurity. Trixie has seen that dozens of times and accidentally found a way to prevent it once.

He can't use it now, as much as he'd love to.

''Katya.''

''What?''

''Stop it.''

''I don't understand.'' Katya does understand, she's a smart girl and a smart boy. He's just playing dumb.

''I'm sorry I came here, okay? I'm sorry I came crashing down on your life again, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry all I ever do is disappoint you, because this is obviously only stressing you out.''

''Brian.'' Katya is using Trixie's boy name and his no-bullshit voice that makes Trixie look up right into his eyes. And what he sees breaks his heart all over again. ''We're being very stupid, aren't we?''

They collide forcefully halfway around the table. Katya's lips are on Trixie's before anything else happens, the tongue forces its way in swiftly and it's the night two months ago with 200% less sadness. Trixie's hands are flying right to Katya's ass, just to force this particular moan out of his mouth, again and again. Katya seems to be trying to touch the other man everywhere at once, the motions of hands never stopping, something sure and solid in Trixie's life, fucking finally. He's feeling Katya's hands on his back, his shoulders, forearms, neck and head, until they find his palms on Katya's hips and clasp their fingers together, like it's a wordless promise.

They break apart, holding each other close, all touching foreheads and coffee breath, and Trixie says ''I'm sorry'', and Katya cuts him off, ''There's nothing to be sorry for, shut up already, Jesus Christ'', and shuts him up with another kiss. Which is very, very unfair, because that was just the trick Trixie used on Katya that one time, and this is how you die, killed by your own weapon.

*

Katya smokes in bed.

Trixie never minded that, until he found himself naked on top of Katya's covers, his body in immediate danger of receiving hot ash burns. Katya is holding the cigarette with one hand, slowly dragging the other one up and down Trixie's hip.

Trixie's skin is all useless electricity, his bones relaxed, mellow, eyes sparkling, a smile dancing on Katya's lips when he releases cigarette smoke.

He went into all of this with no expectations. He's learned early in life that expectations only leave you broken, yet he still burned himself hundreds of times. This time, he just did what felt right. He slept on Katya's doormat and then held onto Katya's arms while having sex at 11 AM, on top of the covers, in the daylight, Katya's face blushing in all of the possible ways and then some.

He hoped they wouldn't speak during, but with Katya, it's always a different story.

''Take off your clothes'', Katya said, while Trixie was already in the process of doing that, and Trixie's attention just floated away and he started laughing, throwing himself onto the bed and unable to stop, and Katya took care of the remaining clothing. He let Katya take care of everything, in this little apartment full of ratty wigs and leotards and ashtrays in the weirdest places.

Having Katya inside of him felt nothing like he thought it would. It was much less awkward, scary and world-shifting, and much more _oh hey, here you are, hello, I'm afraid I'm in love with you._ When they came all over each other and the formerly almost clean sheets they didn't say anything, Trixie just kept looking into Katya's bright eyes and at his perfectly carved cheekbones until Katya dragged him closer to smother all of the remaining insecurities with a breathtaking kiss.

Trixie thinks he's never been kissed like that before. Certainly, sex never made him feel all of _this_ before. Katya's older than him, of course, but Katya often says his real life has started very recently and that he's basically still pretending to be a real adult. So they're both pretending. They're both living in this moment with fresh hearts and fresh minds, and both so, so scared.

Katya puts out the cigarette and hovers over Trixie on his elbows. They're both completely naked and Trixie is glad to be back in a place of no shame.

''Tell me if you want me to stop'', says Katya.

''Stop what?''

''Being all in your personal space.''

''I'm sure you'll get the memo.'' Katya is so beautiful when he smiles Trixie can't stop kissing him again, and again, and again.

*

Katya goes to the airport in drag. She's wearing her most beautiful Wig by Vanity, a flowing blond one, of course, a tight black dress, black pumps and a fitting coat. A scarf Trixie gave her is wrapped around her neck. Trixie takes a picture of her while they wait for a cab on the street, she's smoking and looking absolutely flawless; she's everything. Katya takes a picture of Trixie too – in bed, wearing something next to nothing, an arm thrown over his forehead, half awake.

Trixie walks humbly next to his beautiful, tall girlfriend, in his grey jeans and with his small black suitcase. Katya has everybody's attention for herself. Trixie is feeling unreasonably proud. _I slept with this heavenly creature last night, not you, suckers. Get lost._

They sit down in an airport Starbucks and get their respective drinks – something gross and sugary for Trixie, a black espresso for Katya. Trixie knows there are words to be said, gestures to be made, so of course he's trying to drink his hot coffee instead, burning his tongue.

''You know I wanted to kill myself?'', starts Katya out of the blue like it's nothing, a casual airport conversation, and Trixie swallows the hot liquid, burning his throat a little bit too. ''After you left from Chicago. I mean, not really, I am too much of a coward to actually do it.'' Katya is one of the bravest people Trixie ever met. ''But I couldn't find a place for myself. I just kept walking around, going through the motions, it was almost like this physical pain I hated. I didn't know what was going on. I wanted this to end.''

''Oh, baby.'' What Trixie wants to do now is smother Katya in a hug, so he holds her manicured hand instead. ''I am – I am the actual worst, I swear, I never – ''

''It wasn't your fault. I know you feel differently, but I'm a grown man, I make my own choices, right? It's not like I couldn't have flown across the country to get you back.''

''That's my trick and you don't get to do that.''

They stay like this for a while, an average gay guy and a beautiful drag queen holding hands over a Starbucks table. Afterwards, they kiss goodbye passionately and Trixie goes through TSA with red lipstick all over his mouth.

He flies back to Los Angeles alone, but not lonely.

*

It's not like he's going to move to Boston now. Katya isn't going to move to West Hollywood any time soon either.

But when they reunite three weeks later for a gig in Toronto, they only get one hotel room.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story set in this particular world; it is very much To Be Continued and I'm open to your suggestions! You can hit me up in the comments or on samrull.tumblr.com.
> 
> Let me know how you liked this one!


End file.
